Even then, the operation did not begin. Macdonald, who had sent a message to his colleague on 1st July urging him to have patience ‘and I think you have a fair chance of having the game in your hands and reaping the rewards of your efforts’, now heliographed back two irrelevant queries concerning diplomatic niceties before finally ordering his guns into action. It was clear that he, at least, did not exactly savour the task of attacking such a seemingly impregnable stronghold as the great fort of Gyantse.
Nevertheless, the General had laid his plans with care. Although little activity seemed to ensue from the British facing the fort after the first, exploratory shells had been launched at 2 p.m., in fact, during the afternoon Macdonald began moving troops and two guns towards the north-western bastion from where he made great ploy of capturing a village near the outworks of the fort. As darkness fell, he left his campfires burning there and moved his artillery up towards his true objective, the southern face of the fort.
Then, just before dawn on the morning of the 6th July, Macdonald launched his main assault, with three columns of infantry feeling their way forward in the darkness through the outcrop of narrow streets and houses to the base of the rock. Near disaster then ensued when, at the head of the centre column a dog was disturbed, causing it to bark and alerting the Tibetans, who opened fire. In the pitch-black, confusion reigned and the 40th Pathans collided with a company of the Royal Fusiliers behind it and the two units turned and fled, crashing into each other.
Order, however, was quickly restored and the three columns were merged into two. Some resistance continued to be offered by the Tibetans, but, with the antique Bubble at last doing good work at point-blank range, the maze of stone outbuildings was reduced by demolition parties until the whole of the southern flank of the fort was in British hands.
As soon as it was light, the artillery – the ten-pounders and the Gurkhas’ pair of elderly light guns – opened up from the three positions which they had reached under cover of darkness. Initially, each battery used shrapnel, fired so that it exploded over the heads of the defenders high above. Then, they were replaced by high-explosive shells which hammered away at the walls and earthworks at the base of the fort.
Eventually, with the sun burning down, the Tibetan fire consistent but not causing great damage and the British guns seemingly to be proving equally ineffective, Macdonald dithered. The great rock on which the fort itself perched, towered above the heads of the British troops, who now held all the ground up to the point at which the rock rose from the plain. Above them a road, ascending from right to left up to a gateway had been cut diagonally into the rock. But overlooking it was a high wall, surmounted by three towers. These commanded the road and the way to the gate and the Tibetans rained down fire on anyone who attempted to use the road.
Impasse set in. How could the sepoys, with their new British colleagues, the Fusiliers, get up there?
Fonthill had only been involved in the original diversionary movement, leading one company of his Mounted Infantry to make the feint to the north. Now, tired because of little sleep, he and Jenkins wandered round to where the main force was congregated at the southern end of the rock.
There, he met an old friend from the Pathan Revolt on the North-West Frontier, Colonel Campbell of the 40th Pathans, who was in charge of the storming parties.
‘Why are we stuck here?’ asked Simon.
‘Old Mac doesn’t seem to know what the hell to do next,’ growled Campbell. ‘But I’ll be damned if I’m going to let him keep my men sitting on their arses down here under this sun all day. Can’t move without his orders, though.’
‘Can you see any way up?’
‘Not really. Can you?’
‘There might be a way on the eastern corner. I’ve just walked round there. Come and have a look.’
The two men, with Jenkins tagging behind, constantly wiping his forehead with a dirty handkerchief, walked round the base of the rock, close enough to the face to avoid sniping and dodging stones that were occasionally hurled at them from up above. They eventually came to the eastern face of the rock, where the artillery fire had reduced two walls at the base of the fort itself to rubble, the second and highest of which was still being stoutly defended by a band of Tibetans. Below that wall, however, the rock face was not so sheer as elsewhere and stony projections protruded which might, just might, offer help to skilled climbers.
Fonthill pointed. ‘What do you think?’
Campbell wrinkled his nose. ‘My Pathans would never get up there,’ he muttered, ‘but Gurkhas just might.’
‘From what I’ve seen so far,’ said Simon, ‘I’d back Gurkhas in full battle order to climb Everest.’
‘Right, I’ll suggest to the General that he gives that a try. Or … your idea … would you rather put it to him?’
Fonthill grinned. ‘Good lord, no. I’m not a Regular. I’m just a part-time horseman, beyond the pale. You go and get the glory.’
‘No glory in it, old man. I’m certainly not going to shin up there meself.’
Simon and Jenkins watched the Colonel stride away, casting a wary eye upwards. ‘Good idea,’ said the Welshman. ‘I was just goin’ to suggest it myself but then I thought you’d say that I should lead the climbin’.’
‘You can still go up, if you want to lead.’
‘No thank you. I’ve been up all night and I might nod off, ’angin’ on with one ’and, see. An’ that would set a bad example, look you.’
The two dodged back to rejoin the Fusiliers grouped amongst the rubble. Very soon the artillery opened up again, but this time concentrating on the Tibetans manning the highest of the two semi-ruined walls that formed the base of the fort’s defences. The guns were laid with accuracy and soon a black hole appeared in the wall. Then, from deep inside the fort, came a dull explosion.
‘We’ve hit a powder magazine,’ declared Fonthill.
Yet the explosion seemed to have done nothing to diminish the weight of the Tibetans’ fire. Even so, the bang seemed to be the signal for two companies, one from the 8th Gurkhas and one from the Royal Fusiliers, to charge across the patch of open ground between the village ruins and the base of the rock, and begin to climb.
‘Splendid,’ breathed Simon, ‘Mac’s bought the idea.’
As they watched, it became clear that the Gurkhas were easily outdistancing the Fusiliers. To protect the climbers, the guns still concentrated on the defenders up above but this was counterproductive, for the shells dislodged large lumps of rock and masonry that bounced down the almost precipitous face, hitting some of the little men in the lead and sending them plunging to the ground below.
Then the guns stopped and immediately enfilading fire opened up on the climbers from turrets on either flank and the defenders at the ruined wall reappeared and began hurling rocks at them. But the Gurkhas hung on and it became clear to the anxious watchers below that they were being led by a young English subaltern, Lieutenant John Grant, now climbing hand over hand and being followed by his Gurkha havildar, Karbir Pun.
A cheer rang out when it was seen that they had reached a point just below the black hole. Here the Gurkhas grouped for a moment but further progress could only be made by one man at a time, crawling on hands and knees. So Grant hauled himself up and was about to enter the breach when he was hit by a bullet and almost simultaneously another hit the havildar. A groan went up from the watchers as both men slid down the rock for about thirty feet. It was immediately followed by another cheer as the officer and the havildar immediately picked themselves up and began, agonisingly, to climb again.
They reached the gaping cavern and disappeared within it, followed hard on their heels by the waiting riflemen.
Immediately, figures high up above were seen dodging away from the battlements, others were seen running to the north and others began sliding down ropes seeking shelter in the warren of buildings there that had so far escaped the shelling.
‘My God!’ cried Fonthill. ‘We’ve done it. We’ve recaptured the fort.’ He turned to Jenkins. ‘What would we do without those magnificent Gurkhas!’
The Welshman sniffed. ‘Lose bloody wars, that’s what. They’re tough as nuts and real fighters, so they are.’
‘Come on, I must go and see the General. He will probably want us to pursue the retreating soldiers and run them down. It’s what I hate doing, but it’s our bloody job, I suppose. Come on, Sergeant Major, smartly now.’
They half ran, half trotted in the hot sun to the hamlet of Palla, where Macdonald had his headquarters. They found the General on a rooftop, inspecting the fort with a telescope.
‘Congratulations, General,’ said Fonthill. ‘The fort is yours. Do you want the Mounted Infantry to pursue the fleeing Tibetans?’
Macdonald wheezed, took the cigarette from his mouth and shook his head. ‘Thank you, Fonthill, but I think not. I don’t want to take on loads of prisoners again and I think we’ve done enough for one day.’
He turned and gestured to where a large Union Jack was being pulled up the flagstaff on top of the highest tower, there to flutter in the breeze. The General put his eye to the telescope again and muttered, half to himself, ‘Yes, we’ve stormed the fort and the road to Lhasa now really is open – if we want to take it, that is …’ His voice fell away almost to a whisper.
Fonthill nodded, relieved that he was not being asked to undertake a sabre-swinging pursuit, and turned away to find Jenkins waiting at the bottom of the stairs.
‘Let’s get out of here,’ he said ‘and find Alice.’
‘Yes. I’ll make us all a nice cup of tea. Victorious warriors deserve at least that, I’d say, particularly them that ’ave been up all day, like.’
On their way, however, they were met by a Royal Fusilier warrant officer, pulling along a bedraggled Sunil and carrying the youth’s rifle.
‘Ah sir,’ he cried. ‘Glad I’ve found you. I believe this lad belongs to you, sort of, anyway.’
‘Sort of, Sergeant Major, yes. Where did you find him?’
‘He was among the ruins below the rock taking potshots at the Tibetans on the ramparts with this Lee Metford. He must have stolen it.’
‘No, I did not steal,’ shouted Sunil.
‘No mate,’ Jenkins intervened. ‘It’s his own. I’ve been teaching him to shoot.’
‘Well, Taffy,’ said the Sergeant Major, ‘You’ve done a bloody good job, I’d say. While I was watchin’ him, I saw him hit two of the blokes on the top. Very good shooting, indeed. And they’re his own people, by the look of it.’
Sunil’s face was now a dark purple. ‘No, not my people. Not proper Tibetans. They Khampas. Not from here. Nasty people but fierce warriors. I happy to kill them.’
The Sergeant Major nodded. ‘Ah, from what I’ve heard, they’re the lot who gave you all a hard time in taking Palla, before we arrived. Well, if this lad wants to be a British soldier, I’ll warrant the Fusiliers will take him.’
‘Thank you, Sergeant Major.’ Fonthill offered his hand to the old soldier, who paused for a second, unused to such a social gesture from a senior officer, and then shook it. ‘We’ll take the boy. I think we all deserve a cup of tea.’
‘Right sir.’ The warrant officer saluted smartly. ‘I don’t think I’ll need you to sign a chit for safe receipt. Goodbye, marksman. Maybe we’ll see you in the Fusiliers yet.’
Sunil glared at the back of the departing soldier. ‘What is Fusiliers?’ he asked.
Jenkins sniffed. ‘Ah, very, very ordinary soldiers, Sunshine. They’re not Welsh, y’see. Not proper soldiers like the old 24th of Foot. Now they—’
Fonthill interrupted smartly. ‘Come on, Sunil. Let’s go and find Alice.’